Guns, Blood, and Death, Oh My!
by BlondeNotDitzy
Summary: An episode where Gibbs and Ziva are kidnapped, Tony is critically wounded, leaving the rest to solve the unfinished case of a murdered marine, and also to rescue their friends. Takes place about Season 8. Tony whump. McAbby dating/fluff, Rated T now but may be M later. Experienced story/novel writer but new to FanFiction. Any reads and reviews are appreciated.
1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Scene Opens with Tony and Ziva walking onto a porch, guns drawn, flashlights in opposite hands. Time is around midnight. Ziva is behind Tony, slightly to the right.

Anthony DiNozzo and Ziva David walked up to the door at the rear of the house. No lights showed from any rooms, though the back door was slightly ajar. Tony reached out with this left hand and pushed the door open "Malchus Fayak Hatem, Agents DiNozzo and David with NCIS, you're under arrest for the murder of Lance Corporal Dean Houston." Tony turned to his right to let Ziva pass him through the door.

Out of the darkness and silence came the flash of automatic gun fire. Most bullets wizzed past or struck the door frame but three struck his left side. Unable to withstand the painful assault, Tony fell backward onto the porch.

"Tony!" screamed Ziva. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed 911.

Putting the phone on speaker and setting it next to Tony while she waited for the call to connect, she heard more gunfire from the front of the house as Gibbs crashed through the front door.

"Gibbs! Man-down, Tony's hurt." Ziva yelled out then turned her back to the door, squatted down and shined her flashlight on her partner. Seeing the gun shot wounds and blood flowing far to quickly, she put her gun and her flashlight down and started to remove her jacket, desperate to find anything to press to the wound and stop the flow of blood. "Gibbs, I need help!" she yelled again, then resorted to a steady diatribe of "Don't you die on me, Tony," and "Why isn't 911 connecting the call?" while she tried to stop the bleeding.

With her attention focused on saving her partner, she didn't hear a man come up behind her.

"Gibbs, in the kit…ooooph." Ziva struggled hard, pulling downward on the man's hand, trying free her mouth from the chloroform soaked rag. The combined pressure of his other arm over her throat, compressing her esophagus made escape an improbability, even with her training. He took a large step backward and pulled her head up which served to keep her off-center and unable to use her legs as leverage. Weakening but still fighting like a wild cat, she managed to twist her body enough to get an elbow shot to the man's testicles.

"Uhhn," the man gasp, bending over at the waist but still held his captive tight. "Bitch, you are going pay for that. It is merely one more in your list of sins, _kuffar._ "

Deprived of oxygen for too long, Ziva succumbed to the chloroform, her body turning limp. The man held on as long as he could but there was another confrontation requiring his attention. He dropped Ziva to the porch, heedless of where and how she landed.

.o0o.

Gibbs, hearing Ziva's shout, stopped checking his target. It was too late anyway, he'd managed to shoot the guy three times through the heart. "Ziva, where are you?" he called as he ran down the short hallway and in to the kitchen.

 _Pffft_. The zing of the dart traveling at high speed sounded mere nanoseconds before he felt the sting.

Gibbs reached up to the left side of his neck to pull the dart out. Disoriented in the darkness and distracted by the dart, he didn't see his a second attacker raise a can of pepper spray. Receiving a full shot of spray to his face, Gibbs turned but too late. His knees buckled but he managed to pull the dart out. He wiped his face and struggled to keep his footing, desperately trying to get to his fallen team members.

 _Pffft_.

A second dart found its home, striking frighteningly close to his spine; the combined dosage close to the requirement needed to take down a mid- to large-sized animal. Definitely more than a human, even one with Gibbs' amazing constitution, could fight off. Gibbs fell hard. His left arm, still raised from removing the first dart, shielded his face from direct contact with the floor.

"Bullseye," Malchus said with a laugh and fake shot from his gun-shaped fist. He lifted his arm to his mouth and blew on his finger in mock salute to the fallen.

"Zarak, get the rope, tie these two, and find her phone," he said to his accomplice, reaching into the man's pocket, pilfering the object. "George! We're leaving," he called out to his brother. No response. Malchus kicked Gibbs in the thigh for good measure and then headed down the hallway toward the front room.

"No!" he cried out in agony. "You killed my brother, no, not George." Malchus paused to brush the hair from his brother's eyes. He clenched his brother's hand to his chest and hung his head, sobbing. After a few moments, Malchus lightly placed his brother's hand back on George's chest and reached out to close his eyes.

"Be well, my brother. They will pay for this, you can be certain of that, for I am Malchus Fayak Hatem. I am determined, I am superior, and I am King. I swear I will make them pay." Malchus rose, leaned down and kissed his brother's forehead, and then headed back down the hall into the kitchen.

Sirens sounded from outside, faint but growing closer.

"Damn it, I don't have time for my plan. I'll have to take the boss, too." He went back to the kitchen and signaled to his accomplice to grab Gibbs. Then he leaned down to lift Ziva, saying, "You'll both fit in the trunk. I don't think you will mind… much."

He laughed, and it was not a pleasant sound.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Scene opens with Tim McGee arriving at the squad room. No one else is there. He drops his bags on the floor in his desk area and then sits down, ready to start his day.

"I know I'm early but Ziva, at least, is usually on time," he said to himself.

"McGee!" Director Leon Vance called from the top of the stairs.

Tim turned, "Morning, Director."

"Morning. Welcome back, how was your vacation?" Leon asked.

"Too short, as usual. But I'm glad to be back. Where is everyone?" Tim asked as the Director walked down the stairs and into the squad room.

"They went out late last night on call. We got a hit on the BOLO for Malchus Fayak Hatem. I'm waiting to hear how the take down went."

"Nice, we've been trying to get him for weeks. I'll bet Gibbs was pleased."

"He cracked a smile, so yeah, he was definitely pleased," Vance joked and Tim laughed. "Let me know, I want a report as soon as he gets in."

"Will do, Director."

.o0o.

Tim started typing on his keyboard, researching and reading the updates on the case they've been trying to close for weeks. Even a few short vacation days meant you miss an awful lot of things going on at NCIS. Nearly a half an hour later, he realized how much time had passed and is concerned.

"Even Gibbs is late, what the hell happened last night," Tim said. He looked up as movement caught his eye.

"It's about time, you're late… Agent Fornell? Gibbs isn't here, no one is actually. I'll tell Gibbs you want to talk to him when he finally…"

"That's why I'm here, Tim." Fornell said softly. "Call Director Vance to join us, and Abby and Ducky, too. I only want to say this once."

Tim immediately picked up the phone, "Abby, bring Ducky and Jimmy up right away." He hung up before she could respond then called Director Vance. "Fornell is here, something has happened."

This time Leon hung up first and he burst out of his office, and started running down the stairs. Tim rose to his feet and came around his desk.

Shortly after, the elevator door open and Abby rushed out. "McGee, you jerk…" Then she noticed Fornell and Director Vance with twin stone-faced expressions. "Where's Gibbs? Where's Tony? Ziva?" She ran into Tim's arms, eyes already glistening with unshed tears.

"Tobias, what's going on," asked Director Vance.

Agent Tobias Fornell looked everyone in the eye. "You should all sit."

No one moved a muscle.

Fornell shook his head. "The take down last night went badly. Gibbs…" he started but his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Gibbs and Ziva are missing, we're assuming they have been taken hostage. Tony is at Bethesda, he's been in surgery for a few hours, but he's still in critical condition."

"What!?" all five of the team members yelled at the same time, then each continued, all trying to make themselves heard over the others.

"Quiet!" Fornell yelled. All heads turned toward him with their mouths open in mid-sentence, but not a peep sounded.

"Leon, it was a setup. I don't know for certain if Malchus was there or not but I'm guessing so because his brother, George, was still at the scene. We found him in the front room and he'd been shot. Three times, right through the heart." He pulled out a few bullet casings. "I don't now for sure but my guess is these are from Gibb's Sig Sauer."

Abby reached out her hand and took the evidence bag from Fornell.

"Any shots from the other guy?" Leon asked.

"One in the wall next to the door, so Gibbs' shots are clean. These were found right inside the door. Gibbs went in the front, Ziva and Tony through the back. Gibbs didn't police his brass, and that means that the whole mess got ugly in a hurry."

"Gibbs is hurt, too?" Abby started crying.

"We don't know yet, but as far as we can tell, there is only one area with blood. We've only just begun to process the crime scene. Ziva had time to call 911 but was taken down before she was able to make a report to the dispatcher."

"How did the FBI get involved? This is an NCIS take down?" Leon stated.

"We got the call because the local LEOs didn't know who to call, it appeared to be drug related to them. Fire and Rescue arrived less than ten minutes after the 911 call was placed, and by then, only George Miller and Tony remained."

Tim shook his head. "No, that doesn't make sense. Even if Tony was shot, Ziva would still have moved in, guns blazing. There's no way she would go down without a fight."

"Agreed, and my guess is a tranquilizer of some type. That's the only possible explanation. Nothing else would stop her without leaving her blood, and her target's, all over the place. There was also a strong pepper spray smell in the air."

"Same for Gibbs." Everyone nodded their heads in agreement.

"We'd like to keep your team involved, but the FBI will be taking point on this case."

"The hell you are," Tim said vehemently.

"McGee, you are a team of one. You can't—" Fornell began.

"The hell he is," Abby interrupted, her eyes blazing. "Our team, our boss, our friends, OUR case."

Leon looked at his staff, looked at Fornell, and then back at his team. "Agreed, NCIS will work this case, but we'd like to keep the FBI in the loop."

Tobias started to argue but then stopped and sighed heavily. "Can you work the case without your emotions getting in the way? These are your friends, and EXACTLY the reason why agents are not allowed to work on cases where they are personally involved."

Leon nodded, "Yes, that is true. However, you, too, are personally involved, Fornell. Gibbs is your friend. Which is why NCIS and the FBI will work as partners, if you can spare two or three of your agents. Tim will be lead agent—"

"Leon, you're making a mistake," Fornell stated.

"With the caveat that my team operates as expected. The first moment they let it get personal, FBI will take over and my team will be benched. Is that acceptable?"

Tobias sighed. "Yes, I suppose it will have to be."

Leon looked at his team. "If you can't do it, tell me now. If you can't put your anger away, or at least put it to good use, then I suggest you back out now. I will not allow you to put Gibbs and Ziva in further harm or delay their return."

Tim, Abby, Ducky, and Jimmy all stood straighter, and nodded in agreement. "Yes, sir," Tim spoke for the group. "We'll find them, sir."

Tobias stood still, looking directly into Tim's eyes. For long moments, no one moved, barely breathing. Tim's gaze was hard, determined, and confident.

"Okay, then," Tobias said, impressed with Tim in spite of the seriousness of the situation. "Myself and three agents will return in an hour. No one is allowed at the crime scene until I return, I'll notify our team to hold off and wait for our arrival. I expect to hear your plan when I return."

.o0o.

Leon turned to his team as the elevator doors closed on Fornell. "I'll go to the hospital and check on Tony. You all concentrate on finding Gibbs and Ziva. I suggest you start at the crime scene." Vance turned and walked out of the squad room, headed for his office.

"I'll go back through my case notes and see if I can find us some leads." Tim said to his team. "There were buildings we checked out before, maybe Hatem is using one of those to hold his hostages. And I'll put a BOLO on Gibbs and Ziva, and another on Malchus."

"When I get the samples from the crime scene, I start processing and see what I can come up with. I'll check bank records, phone records, and… um… well, computer stuff while I'm waiting."

"Jimmy and I will get started on the autopsy of George Hatem nee Miller, that is as soon as the body arrives. Tim, excellent job, my boy."

Abby, Ducky, and Jimmy all try to hug Tim at once, resulting in a huge, though infinitely comforting group hug.

"Don't forget," Vance called from the midway point on the stairs. "You still have the case of the murdered marine to solve. Abby, fill in Mr. Vacationer here with the details."


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

"Who names their kid Malchus?" Abby said to her computer, typing furiously.

"He did," Tim stated, coming through the door to Abby's lab.

"What?" Abby asked, confused, her mind already several thoughts beyond the one he was answering.

"Malchus was named Michael at birth, but he didn't think that was inspiring, or evil, or narcissistic enough, so he had his name legally changed," Tim supplied.

"Okay, then. Their last name is appropriately evil, I'm assuming they hate everyone or just Israeli Jews?" Abby asked. "Or did he change that, too?"

"Nope, their father did."

"Of course, they're a little family of criminals. So, Tim. You'll never guess what I found? Come on, guess, guess!" Abby said.

Tim looked at her with a straight face.

"Wow, McGee. That was almost as good as Gibbs."

"Abs—"

"All right, all right. Hey, did you bring me a Caf-Pow? Gibbs always brings me a Caf-Pow. I could sure use a Caf-Pow right now."

Tim looked down at the table in front of her, four Caf-Pow containers covered nearly all the working space available. "How many is your record?"

"We don't talk about my record, remember?" Abby said with a shudder. "Now, where is it. Gibbs usually has it behind his back."

Tim held up his hands, empty. "You got nothing for me, I've got nothing for you."

"I don't have nothing, precisely. I was able to tell for certain that the shell casing are from Gibbs' gun. Well, actually, from a Sig Sauer P229, I can't tell if they came from his gun specifically. Which is odd, actually, there were no fingerprints on the casings. Why would Gibbs wear gloves when he's loading his gun?" Abby turned to face him. "And you can't be mad at me, I haven't received the stuff from the crime scene yet. Now why is that, Timothy McGee, our illustrious leader?"

"Abs, it's only been like ten minutes." Tim replied.

"Fine, then why are you here bugging me?"

"I found the address of a place where Malchus typically liked to hang out. I came down to ask if you wanted to go check them out with me while we wait for the samples to arrive."

"Seriously!" Abby bounced up on her toes a couple of times, her braided pigtails bobbed with the movement. "I get to go in the field? I know, I get to some times but usually I'm not really investigating, I'm just collecting samples. Hey, can we go to the crime scene? This is my first time as a special agent and—"

"Abby, come on, let's go." Tim turned and pointed at the refrigerator as he walked toward the door.

Abby looked and then smiled. "My Caf-Pow!" She started for it but Tim stopped her. "Okay, okay. Later. Geez, you are bossy. I… hm… I'm rather turned on."

"Nice… don't forget rule number nine." Tim said.

"Oh, I thought you were going to say, 'rule number twelve.' What's rule number nine?"

Tim cocked his head to the side and smiled, "Rule number twelve is our little secret. Rule number nine is…" He stepped closer, leaned his head toward hers, and reached his arm around her waist. Abby tilted her head up for a kiss but Tim stepped back and handed her what he'd picked up from the table. "…never go anywhere without a knife."


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Scene opens with Ziva stripped to her underclothes, tied to a wooden, straight-back chair, arms pulled tightly behind her and her legs are tied not only at the ankles but cutting cruelly into her bare thighs. She's semi-conscious, not always able to hold up her head, and only a sheet tied across her breasts keeps her torso upright and preserves at least a small amount of dignity. Her nose and face is bloodied, lips cracked and bleeding. Multiple bruises and surface cuts cover a large portion of her body accompanied with blackening or oozing blood, some dried, some fresh. It's obvious this has been going on for quite some time.

"Tell me about the mission," Malchus crooned in Ziva's ear, his hand viciously wrapped in her hair, pinning her head and neck almost to painful hyper-extension.

Ziva, only semi-conscious and obviously still drugged, only mumbled indistinguishable words before her eyes closed and she fell silent once again.

Malchus pulled harder on her hair and smacked his open palm across her already bruised and bleeding face. "TELL ME!"

"Mal, you've been drugging and abusing them continually for twelve hours. Torture is far more effective when the victim is conscious," came the somewhat sardonic statement from his companion, Zakar Khalil.

"Shut up!" Malchus shot back, spittle flying from his mouth. He released his grip from within Ziva's hair and started walking toward the backroom, uncaring that the strands clung to his sweaty hand. "What would a pansy like you know of torture anyway?" he sneered.

Zakar chose not to respond, knowing it wouldn't do any good. Years of knowing Malchus taught him his friend, for lack of a better term, was completely incapable of accepting responsibility or criticism. At least he could take a small measure of comfort that it wasn't converting to Muslim and changing his name from Michael which caused this sociopathic personality. It certainly hadn't gotten any better though.

He watched the man fill an already used syringe, press out the air, and reapply the drug compound to both Ziva and Gibbs, who lay on the floor some distance away. Zakar took comfort that Malchus wasn't ready to kill his captives yet if he took the time to blow the air from the syringe, which would result in certain death.

"It's time for salah, Zakar. Have your forgotten your vows so easily?" Malchus taunted while placing another kick to the side of his male captive.

The still ever-present Christian part of the former Zachary Kahill rebelled at this five-a-day prayer requirement. Truth be told, it was the hardest part of following the Quran and Sharia Law, in his opinion.

"Of all the basic tenements of Sharia law, I find it amazing that this is the one thing you, of all people, have no difficulty in following," he said, directing his words toward Malchus, uncaring if the man heard him or not. Zakar sighed to himself and headed toward their sajada — prayer rug — situated at the eastern wall of the warehouse.

Both men cleansed themselves in preparation and kneeled on the rugs. Just before Zakar began, Malchus said, "I follow all of the Quran; unlike you, Zakar, I will never be condemned for being a sinner or unbeliever, I am never confused between the differences of your Christian Bible and the Holy Quran. You can be sure the Imam will hear of your lack of vow-keeping."


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Abby got out of the passenger side of the truck and immediately started heading toward the front door of the crime scene.

"Abs," Tim said.

"What, McGee? Oh, I forgot rule number two, huh?"

Tim merely smiled and signaled for her to walk to the back of the truck. "Well, that and you are technically the Probie here, so that means—" His smiled turned slightly smug and more than a little evil. "—that you get to lug the equipment."

Abby looked down at her brand new Demonia Trashville-518 Boots. She was proud of herself that she managed to not whimper.

"You probably should have changed your shoes, not exactly field specifications," Tim said regretfully as he drew a pair of latex gloves from the stock. "Somewhere in one of the drawers are plastic shoe covers instead of the paper ones. It will help you learn where things are by searching for them. Oh, and you should probably take off your spiked collar, and your leather wrist bands." Tim flipped one of her braids affectionately and turned to leave.

"Let's compromise," Abby said before he could take a single step. "I'll learn the drawers and you carry the equipment, you'll need it long before silly ole' me finds the boot covers." She resisted the urge to bat her eyes, knowing she was already laying it on too thick.

"Fine, but hurry up. Fornell's team already has a huge advantage and lead time… and I don't trust them," Tim said. He grabbed the multiple cases, well used to lugging them anyway and headed off under the tape, blissfully unaware he'd been conned.

Abby wisely waited until Tim was far enough away before letting out the laugh she'd been holding. She stepped up into the truck, opened the correct drawer, pulled out the plastic boot covers, and then snapped them into place with her own smug and evil smile. "Tim, you really are a McGoo sometimes, I stock the stupid truck!" She took a moment to revel and then decided she'd much rather experience the crime scene than gloat.

She hopped down from the truck, her clod-hoppers landing squarely on Jimmy Palmer's foot.

"Ow! Abby! What'cha do that for?" Jimmy wailed, hopping around on his good foot for a moment.

"Whoops. Sorry, Jimmy. I guess I got a little too excited. Off to investigate." Abby turned to run around the truck, colliding smack into Ducky, nearly knocking him on his tush.

Ducky, ever the gentleman, held her arms tight while he regained his balance, hugged his exuberant friend, and then continued around her without saying a word.

"Sorry, Duckman. I almost took out the entire Autopsy department. Whoops again, and gotta go."

"That reminds me of the time…" she heard Ducky say to Jimmy as she ducked under the tape.

.o0o.

"Abby, thank god," Tim said, obviously angry, and practically shoving the camera into her hands as he walked away. "Start shooting."

Privately, Abby felt his anger was a little much for simply having tricked him into carrying a few cases but she took the camera and did as he asked, wisely choosing not to make the situation worse.

Tim and Fornell stood off in the corner trading heated whispers and shooting looks that could kill around the room. "You told us you had just started processing the crime scene. Now I find out your guys have been removing evidence all night. And it doesn't matter if the evidence was bagged and tagged before we even heard of the case, but it's our case now and I need those samples."

"They are already gone, McGee, nothing I can do," Fornell said.

"Then I'll get them myself," Tim flung back.

"They won't listen to you, if I can't do anything, what makes you think you can?"

"So, you are sabotaging me."

"No—"

"Don't. Just don't. I may be junior agent compared to you, Fornell, but Vance declared me the Lead Agent on this case, and you agreed. That makes your FBI guys, and you, accountable to me."

Fornell looked Tim dead in the eye, not replying.

"Hey, boss?" one the FBI agents called out, receiving an answer from both Fornell and McGee, though neither of them broke eye-contact with the other.

Tim refused to back down, raised his eyebrow, "My case, stand down," he said quietly.

Tobias sighed and nodded his agreement. "I'm watching you, always watching."

Tim turned to the center of the room, "Listen up. In all things pertaining to this case, you come to me. You don't want to call me boss, fine, I couldn't care less. You don't want to take orders from me, there's the door, no hard feelings."

Ducky and Jimmy walked through the door in time to hear, cheering as they walked past. The FBI agents looked at Fornell questioningly.

"He's Lead Agent, you take orders from him or hand me your badge," Fornell said, finally backing Tim's lead.

"Fine, come look at this," the guy said.

"I want those samples sent to the Navy Yard. We need them within the hour," Tim said to Fornell quietly, then turned to the agent. He initiated a handshake with the man and said by way of introduction, "Call me McGee, and you are?"

"Jackson. So this bullet hole appears fresh, we'll extract the bullet. Trajectory supports the general direction of our stiff over there. But, no gun, and no shell casing."

"Could it have rolled under the couch?"

"Maybe, I'll see who swept this area and—"

"Who moved my body?" came a loud cry from the other side of the room.

"Not a wise move to piss off an M.E.," Tim said to the room in general. "Please tell me you didn't move the body to look for a shell casing," he said to Jackson.

"No, sir." He held up his hands in innocence and looked toward Fornell.

Tim noticed all three of the FBI agents looking at Fornell.

"Seriously, Fornell?" he asked. "Rookie mistake."

"I didn't move the body," he bit out.

"We shall see about that," Ducky said, letting the matter drop. "Now then, Abby. These blood stains on the arm of the couch, do you think you can extract a fingerprint?"

Abby looked closer, took several pictures both wide and zoomed. "A partial, if you're lucky, Ducky." She grinned at her unintentional pun.

"Time of death, Duck?" Tim asked. He needed the information but also knew asking Ducky now would rile him up, just as Gibbs always did.

"In due time, in due time. I haven't finished the external examination yet, let alone actually inserted the liver thermometer, though I suspect the time will be shortly after midnight. Cause of death is likely three gun shot wounds to the heart but—"

"You won't know that until you get him to your lab, I know, Duck." Tim said grinning.

"Quite right. Now then, the ambient temperature appears normal, estimating 70 degrees Fahrenheit. Liver temp reads 22.1 Celsius. Allowing for normal rate of heat disbursement, I would estimate time of death approximately 10 or 11 hours ago."

"Midnight." Tim supplied absently, while he examined the body and surroundings, focusing on the blood spatter and smear on the couch.

"As expected."

.o0o.

Fornell snapped his phone closed and rubbed his eyes. "Bloody nightmare. I wouldn't be surprised if we all get fired over this debacle," he cursed under his breath. "McGee!"

"Yeah," Tim replied, still examining the blood and unconsciously sending a message to Fornell to come to him, not the other way around.

"Get your butt… never mind," Fornell grumbled and walked over. "Stewart says he's near the end of processing the samples, he's been working non-stop since they started arriving early this morning."

Abby looked up in dismay. "McGee—"

"That's fine," Tim said, raising his hand to Abby. "As soon as he's done, I want everything still sent to Abs. And a report sent to me. Abs, you'll get to work your forensic magic but we have to divide the work load somehow, our team can't do it all."

"Okay, I suppose. I'm a probie agent now anyway." She turned back to Ducky, digitally capturing his measurements and he continued the external examination.

"We're almost done here, Jimmy. Is the—"

"The body bag is right here and the gurney is right outside the door, where we left it not fifteen minutes ago."

"Cheeky whippersnapper," Ducky murmured though secretly pleased with his assistant.

Tim addressed the three FBI agents. "Since your boss didn't bother to introduce us, tell me your names. I prefer that over, 'Hey, you.' You're Jackson," he said, pointing to the one he knew then to the next.

"Brown, sir. Elliot Brown."

"Brown-noser, perhaps," said the last man. "I'm Stevens."

"It's called respect, you should get some," Brown shot back.

Fornell smacked Stevens on the back of the head, much to Tim's amusement. He had already mentally compared the annoying man to DiNozzo. That thought brought a twinge of sadness for his annoying partner but he pushed it away. Time for that later.

"Any of you have mad computer skills?"

Jackson raised his hand. "I do, maybe not hacker-level like you," he said, conveying equal amounts of teasing and admiration for McGee's reputation when it came to all things cyber.

"What's your area of expertise," Tim asked Stevens.

"Grunt work," Brown replied for him, paying his partner back for the earlier jibe.

"Police work," Stevens corrected. "Tried and true, ears to the ground, eyes wide open, brain fully engaged police work."

"Excellent, get to it. See what you can find on Malchus Fayek Hatem. Known associates, hang-outs, I want everything from birth to now." Tim neglected to mention he and his team had done most of that same work already but it would be a good measure of the man's skills and they just might get lucky and turn up something new.

Tim turned to Elliot. "And you?"

"All-around bad ass. You name, I do it," Brown said.

McGee clapped the man on the shoulder as he started walking away. "Get me everything on our dead marine. Miss Scuito can provide you with the details."

"But that's not even part of this case," Elliot complained.

"Yeah? Prove it. And welcome to NCIS."


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Tim rode the elevator down stairs, unusually quiet and nervous. He and Abby spent a good deal of time together and that could often be considered breaking rule number twelve. But tonight, they had plans for absolutely crushing that particular rule. And that wasn't what made him nervous.

The fact that he was the Lead Agent in charge of the team and responsible for solving two major cases, one which would hopefully result in the return of their friends had him reconsidering. He didn't want to give Director Vance any cause to fire him—a real possibility even when he wasn't Acting Boss.

On the other hand, he and Abby had been planning this date for several weeks. He felt churlish for backing out now. "It's just a concert, McGee," he told himself. Then he snorted. "Yeah, right, just a concert, and then drinks, and then coffee, and then another romp in her coffin."

It struck him as telling that he no longer got the willies at the thought of sleeping in her coffin. He was well and truly sunk.

.o0o.

Abby tapped her toes impatiently, waiting for Major Mass Spec to finish its analysis, fully aware the length of time it was taking was in no way responsible for her current state of unease. Tonight was the big date. And somehow she just knew Tim was going to back out. And while she'd be upset, she couldn't really blame him. "I'll just go without him," she spoke out loud.

"What?" Tim asked, knowing what he'd heard but unable to stop the warring emotions of relief and regret coursing through him. It came as no surprise to him that he was more disappointed than relieved. "You don't want to go see The Dead Vynals any more?"

Abby turned, chagrined at being caught. "No? Yes? Um… I don't know, maybe?" she said definitively.

"We've been planning this for weeks," Tim said. "I thought you really wanted to go, you had to threaten me to agree."

"I know. And I do want to, but not if you don't want to. I can go by myself, it's okay, I don't mind. Or, I could call… well, I'm sure I could find someone who wants to go with me at the last minute. Don't worry about me."

"Wait, you still want to go, you just don't want to go with me. I understand."

"No. I mean yes. I mean… What do you want to do Tim, I thought you were coming down to cancel on me."

"No. Well, I mean, I should. If Vance finds out we're together, I'll get fired."

"I know."

Tim cleared his throat and blushed. "I want to go, Abby."

"You do? Excellent, so do I. And you are lucky, because I was going to have to activate Operation McRevenge."

"Do I even want to know what that is?" Tim asked pensively.

Abby laughed. "I am a forensics scientist. I could kill you in so many ways, even those in my field would have a hard time figuring out the cause."

"Yeah? Well, I could hack into your computer and destroy your plans," Tim teased.

"You think I'm stupid enough to put that in writing?" Abby pointed to her skull. "It's all in here, baby. Good luck penetrating this firewall."

Tim took a step forward, so close he could feel the warmth from her skin. "Oh, I could penetrate your firewall."

Abby shivered. Long minutes passed with both of them processing their double entendre.

"Oh, I'll just… yeah, I'll come back later," Jimmy said, turning beat red, backing out of Abby's lab.

"Palmer!" Abby called. "You give me those bullets, right now."

"Yes, sir, I mean ma'am. I mean, oh jeez, here. And Ducky is still doing the autopsy. Here's some tissue to process. A healthy man with strange fibers in his lungs? Maybe you can find out how they got there or what in the world they are."

"That's my job, Jimmy. Now, out, out. Both of you. Labby is closed."

Both men turned to leave, exiting through opposite doors. "McGee, cancel dinner, order me a tofu wrap, tell them it's for me, they know how I like it. And get me a Caf-Pow, please." Abby checked to make sure Jimmy was out of ear shot range. "And meet me at the corner at 8:00. And dress like you actually belong at a Dead Vynals concert."

Tim opened his mouth to argue then thought better of it. Looks like he'd need to go shopping and quickly.

.o0o.

After setting up the delivery for her dinner, Tim headed to the mall. He didn't have the first clue of where to get clothes appropriate for any concert, let alone one to match Abby's peculiar preferences. But figured here he'd have the best chance of finding something, all he had to do was find a store that sold leather spiked collars. It couldn't be that hard, right?

He walked through the crowded halls in the mall, checking out every store he passed but nothing fit his needs. Then, he looked down to the lower level and saw a guy with a bright blue mohawk. Surely that guy had to be near the right store. Or at least could tell him where to go. He ran down the escalator the wrong way, "Sorry!" he called to a few shoppers for bumping into them.

His quarry was still standing there so Tim called out to him. "Hey, you with the blue mohawk," forgetting he was still in his NCIS attire, badge and all. The guy took off running, knocking down several people in his haste to get away.

"Stop!" McGee called. "I just need to talk to you." He kept running and managed to catch up with the guy. Apparently it was hard to run away from law enforcement when one was wearing leather pants and platform boots. Good to know, Tim thought, he'd have to remember not to get in trouble tonight.

"Hey, sorry. Why'd you run? I just want to ask you where I can shop, my girlfriend… I mean my friend wants me to get clothes like yours."

The guy's eyes opened wide and then he burst out laughing. "You? You're going to dress up like a goth to impress some girl. Don't you cops have some rule against looking cool?"

Tim looked bewildered for a moment then realized how this looked. "Yeah, sorry. I'm a Federal Agent, NCIS, not exactly a cop. And, I'm not trying to impress her, I do that just fine as I am. But we're going to the concert tonight and she told me to dress like I belonged."

"You're going to The Dead Vynals concert? Seriously? Hey, that's cool, dude. I'm Eddie Rayven, the lead singer. Who's your date?"

"Abby Scuito."

"No fu… uh, freaking way. You're McGoo? Yeah, I can see what she means. You do need help, dude."

Tim didn't know what to respond to first. That he was talking to a rock star, that Abby knew him and apparently well enough to talk about their relationship or him distinctly. Or that the guy was willing to help. He went for the help. "Thanks, man. So, where should I go? And I need to hurry. And shouldn't you be at the stadium?"

"Yeah, but I've just got to see your transformation. Joe, does Abs already have back stage passes?" he called to one of his friends.

"I think so. Even if she doesn't, Packer will let her pass."

Rayven slapped Tim on the back hard enough to move him a step forward. "Not much of good quality here but it will be enough to get you started." He put his arm around McGee's shoulders and led him to a store a few doors down. "We'll get you set up with the basics." By then, several guys and more than a few girls had gathered, watching the spectacle.

"Not too much, and no piercings!" Tim declared, much to the hilarity of the group.

"What a blast. I hope you have your Mastercard, because this is going to be priceless."

Tim considered bolting. With no less than a dozen people surrounding him, he still though he had a shot at getting away, considering how they were all dressed. Something in his face must have betrayed his thoughts. The group closed ranks, effectively trapping him.

And then the fun really began.

Someone pushed him into a fitting room and several others started throwing in clothes for him to try on. 30 minutes later he was the proud owner of a pair of black, butter-soft leather pants, several black Dead Vynals t-shirts, a spiked collar, and studded arm bands and wrist wraps for each side. But the coup de grace, his very own platform boots, knee-length, buckles from top to bottom, two and a half-inch lift. He'd tried to protest that he only needed one Dead Vynals t-shirt but a single raised eyebrow from Rayven put a period to that argument.

Tim opened the door to the fitting room, only to hear cries of, "No way, dude, that's so wrong." He looked around, checking himself out, trying to figure out what he'd put on wrong. He thought he looked cool.

"Dude, your hair, it's blonde. And your face, it's so pale. You look like a white dude trying to be a Goth."

"Correction, I am a white dude trying to look like a Goth. This isn't a life choice, it's a costume. For tonight. That's it."

"Fine, hair spray instead of dye," one of the women declared.

Ten minutes later, pomaded and sprayed, he sported black hair, black lips, and black eye shadow. They tried to talk him into a lip piercing but he adamantly refused.

Eddie Rayven turned to start making his way toward the exit. "I'm out. Catch ya later, McGoo. It's been real. I'd say 'stay cool' but…"

"It's McGee."

"Yeah, that's what I said."

They both laughed and did some funky handshake before he and the rest of the group walked out of the store. Tim gathered his normal clothes and headed up to the cashier.

"I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to pay. Probably wouldn't be cool of me to have to call the cops and arrest a cop for shop-lifting."

Tim smiled. "I'm glad I remembered then. Can you find all the tags on me?" He put the cans and accessories on the counter. "I'm not sure I'd be able to get all of this on again without help."

"Oh, I can help, I'd be happy to," the checker said, obviously flirting with him.

"Huh, uh, thanks but…

"No problem. You're kinda cute this way, it would be a shame to waste it. I'll get your stuff rung up in a jif."

After few minutes of pulling tags, clipping off the little plastic thingies, and no small number of odd looks from other shoppers, both in and outside the store, the clerk said, "That will be $729.46."

"You've got to be kidding!" Tim said as he pulled out his wallet and slid out his Mastercard.

"Mostly it's the boots. Those are top of the line, Demonia Ravage-II Steel Toe Leather Platform Boots. Very chic."

"Yeah, okay, I hope I have enough money to cover all this."

"You've got to be kidding me!" the clerk said, starting to get pissed. "Why—"

"I'm kidding, trust me, it's fine."

"Not funny."

"Had to get my kicks somehow. I'm sorry."

The clerk finished closing out the sale, shooting him dirty looks until the card processed and Tim signed the receipt. She finally relented and smiled at him again as she bundled up his old clothes and stuffed them in the bag. "Maybe I'll see you there tonight."

"Yeah, maybe. Have fun," he said, walking out the door.

.o0o.

"Tim, where have you been? I wanted to be at the stadium already!" Abby cried as Tim pulled up at their meeting place.

"Abs, chill. I'm only five minutes late," he said as he got out of the car to open her door.

As soon as he stepped into the light, Abby gasped, squealed, and ran into this arms, hugging him and jumping up and down at the same time. "Wow, you look fantastic, Tim. How did you manage this, I'm totally impressed!"

"You wouldn't believe me even if I tried to explain. So, I'll just let them handle it," he said cryptically. Abby tried several times to get him to explain during the ride to the stadium but he remained tight-lipped.

He pulled into a space in the VIP parking lot and assisted Abby from the car. It wasn't until they were walking up to the back stage entrance that she realized she'd never told Tim that she had VIP passes.

"You must be McGoo. Lookin' rad, my man. And Abs, a pleasure as always, my dear," Parker, the bouncer, said as he opened the door and stood back for them to pass. "Rayven's waiting for you both, you know where to go, Abs. See ya after?"

"You got it, Parker, thanks. And McGoth, why is Rayven waiting for us both. What did you do today? Am I going to be embarrassed and never be able to show my face in the Goth public again?"

"Do I look embarrassing?" Tim asked, part teasing, part a sudden self-conscious streak he couldn't suppress.

"No, actually you look hot."

"Really? Oh, you mean temperature-wise."

"No, I mean hot as in 'lets go through that door or we'll miss the concert' hot," Abby turned away but not before Tim caught a hit of a blush on her cheeks.

Perhaps the night would end in a coffin after all.

.o0o.

"Dude! That is one smokin' hot jacket!" Rayven called out from his make-up chair as Abby and Tim walked through the door. "Hi Abs!"

"Eddie, please tell me what the hell is going on? McGoo refuses to tell me," Abby barely managed to restrain herself from stomping her foot.

Rayven signaled for his make-up artist to wait, which didn't make her happy. "You were late showing up and now you want to chit-chat. Do you even want to get on stage tonight? Cuz, I've got better things to do than have my masterpiece ruined, thank you very much."

"Fine," Eddie said, sitting back down and motioning for her to continue. "I can talk while you work your magic. So, Abs, I was standing in the mall, just minding my own business and saying good-bye to my friends, when all of the sudden…" Eddie continued telling the story and had Abby laughing so hard she was crying.

"Tim, you've been upgraded. You are no longer McGoo, now you are McGoober. Did you really chase Eddie Rayven through the mall?"

"Well, yes, but I had no clue who he was, I just saw him from the upper deck and needed to know where he shopped. I'd already wasted half an hour trying to find the right store."

"How much damage did we do? And where did you get the leather? Did Abby help you pick that out?" Rayven asked.

"No, despite popular belief, I'm not a total goob, I bought this jacket months ago. I wore it tonight because I thought it matched the rest of my… costume. And you guys cost me $730.00."

Abby started laughing. "Front row tickets to The Dead Vynals, $300.00, each. Clothes appropriate for said concert, $730.00. Getting to see Timothy McGee, Nerd Extraordinaire, dressed up in Goth regalia—"

"Priceless," pretty much everyone in the room shouted together.

"See, I told you!" Rayven said with a laugh. His make-up artist sucked in a deep breath, smacked him on the back of the head, saying, "You move, you bleed."

Everyone in the room laughed, but Tim didn't get the reference.


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

"Keep watch on the Americans, Zarak. I'm going to use the head," Malchus said, walking toward the bathroom.

Zarak Khalil waited for his associate to turn the corner before hurrying over to the table where Malchus kept the drugs used to keep the two cops under control. As he himself was an American, it was difficult to think of them that way, or to hate them for it. Malchus was as well before converting to Muslim, a fact the man seemed to have conveniently forgotten. Zakar kept the irony of it to himself, and Malchus could never see how hating someone simply because of where they were born, when he himself was born likewise, was truly ironic.

Picking up the bottle of benzodiazepine, a sedative which was essentially a liquid form of Valium, he pulled on the syringe to withdraw a small amount and then squirted it into the garbage can. Then he replaced the same amount with water to dilute the drug. He knew what he was doing was dangerous but decided it was a much smaller risk than keeping these two dosed on what was really a barbiturate.

He looked over at the male captive tied up not far from the table. He thought he saw the man's eyelids move so he watched for a few seconds before realizing he was putting himself in danger, If Malchus caught him over here, he'd never be able to come up with a believable excuse. Zakar put everything back as he found it and then walked away, glancing over his shoulder to see if the man opened his eyes again. Either he didn't see what he thought he saw, or the guy was smart enough not to repeat the action and let his captors know he was coming down off the influence of the drug.

Next, he took out the woman's phone he'd taken at the set up house. Just thinking about that night sent a wave a pain running through Zakar at the thought of what he had done. He'd been trying to miss but an Uzi was freaking hard to control, especially when one didn't have experience. He knew he'd have trouble with a regular pistol, and a small one at that, let alone trying to control an automatic weapon. The man would be lucky to live and that was with Zakar trying his best to make it look like he was on Malchus' team without killing anyone. He could only hope the guy was still alive.

He opened her phone, turned it on, squeezing the speaker to deaden the boot sounds. He pulled up the speed dial contact list. The first contact was listed as Gibbs. Zakar knew this was the man they had tied up so there was no question of calling that phone number. He knew Malchus had taken that phone, as well as the one from the other guy. He knew the woman was named Ziva. He'd heard that name repeated over and over so when he did manage to make a call, at least he could talk about the correct names.

The problem was, he had heard the woman yell a man's name when they were at the house but Zakar hadn't been listening and it was hard enough to hear through the gunfire. There were two names that started with a 'T' near the top of the list. If he chose the wrong one and made the other phone ring, he would be a dead man. Malchus didn't know he had this. He had, in fact, been monumentally pissed when Zakar had lied and told him he'd forgotten to get it from the house.

The truth was he knew the woman had dialed 911 and then set the phone down. After Malchus had knocked her out and headed back inside, he had picked up the phone as Malchus had told him to do, but he held the line open for what he hoped was long enough for the dispatcher to hear some of what was going on and make the decision to send the ambulance and police. He could only hope they traced the phone and found out who was calling. If so, that was only to his benefit.

Listening quietly for footsteps, Zakar had an idea. He turned behind him and picked up one of the other phones, turned it on, and then and searched through the settings to see if it had a setting showing for My Phone Number listed. He didn't think the newer phones these days did that but he knew older ones did so it was worth a shot. He scrolled down and found a link called About Phone and sure enough, there was the man's phone number. He then opened the contact for the one called Tim on Ziva's list and checked them against each other.

They didn't match. Just to be safe, he checked the one listed as Tony and they were a match. Now Zakar knew which number was safe to call. Now he just had to find a good time to do it. He could only hope the person on the other end was open-minded and willing to listen.

More than just these two lives were depending on it.

.o0o.

"Polyethylene terephthalate, azobenzene and anthraquinone, several types of Synthazyme, Synthalube, and Pomosperse?" Abby said, questioningly. "How can a man have polyester fibers, specifically those used in red and yellow wicking fabrics, in his lungs and still breathe normally?"

Ducky looked up from his autopsy table, still engrossed in the autopsy he and Jimmy were finishing on the recently deceased, George Miller. He leaned down toward the ear of his patient and said, "See, I told you she was smart."

Straightening up, he addressed his co-worker. "And we know that the answer is… he didn't. He would have been in and out of the emergency room, likely even long overnight stays in the hospital, and undoubtedly multiple times with infection and pneumonia, judging from the amount of granulation tissue surrounding the foreign bodies."

"He was one sick dude!" Jimmy said. "And, that's probably not appropriate to say…" he added, feeling the weight of the unamused gazes of his companions.

"Did you find any evidence of a history of sports activity? Basketball, specifically? He doesn't appear to be in extreme physical fitness so casually seems more likely than professional but then how would he be exposed long enough to have two different colors of that exact fiber lodged in his lungs?"

"A lifetime of sports has most definitely not been in this young man's past. And there are probably far more colored fibers in his lungs than that, Abby." Ducky said, "I've found several small masses in his bronchial tubes and upper lungs. Additionally, this young man has suffered from asthma his whole life. With those combinations, and the amount of fluid and infection in his lungs from a raging case of pneumonia, I'd say he wasn't long for this life even if Gibbs hadn't shot him so succinctly."

"But how did they get there, Duck? I mean, he'd have to, like, have his head in a bag of the stuff to inhale that much, right?"

"If anyone can answer that, Abby, my money is on you."

"Thanks, Ducky. I'll see what I can find." Abby started to turn away then hesitated put her hand on Dr. Mallard's shoulder. "Duck, have you… I mean…"

"Did I go check on Tony? Yes, and he still unconscious, they are keeping him sedated for now and the blasted doctors won't let anyone in his room, even me, another doctor! But they've upgraded his condition from critical to serious."

"That's good. Did they tell you how he was hurt?"

"I did get the doctor to tell me that much. A bullet pierced his lung and between that and the two holes in his shoulder, he lost a lot of blood. Thank God Ziva managed to get that call through to 911, or we'd have lost him," Ducky reached up and squeezed Abby's hand. "They are hopeful, however, that his prognosis is good. He'll have quite the long road of recovery but our very special agent Anthony DiNozzo should return to annoy… I mean regale us with his incessant movie quotes."

"Thank you, Ducky. You really are the best." Abs leaned over, kissed her dear friend on the cheek and returned to her lab.

.o0o.

Tim looked into the squad room, momentarily stunned at seeing three men sitting at the desks of his co-workers. "Jackson, what do you got?" McGee asked, coming in to sit at his desk.

Jackson, who was sitting at Gibbs desk, scowled. "I've got a piece of junk, doesn't your boss ever use this thing?" he asked.

Tim was hard pressed to hold back a smile and decided not to, maybe it would help break the ice with these guys. "Nope, he hates computers. Can't even get him to check his email most of the time. But that should mean it's fresh. So, what do you got?"

"I have a lead on a shell company that may or may not end up being owned by the family of the mother of Malchus Hatem. I'm a few levels deep already but still digging."

"Okay, keep on it, that could be a good lead. Stevens," Tim turned to the man sitting at DiNozzo's desk. "What did you turn up on Hatem?"

For several minutes, Stevens recounted details of the man's life, to which Tim gleefully replied that they already knew all of that information. "So then why the hell did you have me waste my time," he complained, threw down his pen, and got up to leave.

"Because, on our team, if we don't find something we look again. And again, until we do find something. So, if you found nothing, keep looking, eventually you'll find something."

"Stevens!" came a yell from the upper balcony outside of MTAC. "You had your free swing already this morning. That's strike one," Fornell continued as he hurried down the stairs and into the squad room.

"Yes, boss. Sorry, boss."

McGee stood completely still, doing his damnedest to channel his inner Gibbs. Next to him, Fornell looked positively warm and cuddly.

"Right, I'll keep searching. And I'll check in some other contacts, call in some favors," Stevens stammered.

Tim turned toward Ziva's desk where Elliot Brown sat patiently waiting to make his report. "Okay, shoot."

"Bang," Elliot said, trying to lighten the mood. Tim cracked a smile so Elliot continued. "Most of what I found matched what you already had in your file on Dean Houston. But I did some cross-reference checking with his career, looking for common elements. Of the three duty stations, four if you include basic training, which Dean served in during the five plus years of his six-year enlistment contract, two or three other marines matched for a good deal of that time. I figured anyone they'd spent that much time with had to be a either a friend or an enemy, right?"

"Good thinking, what did you find?" Tim asked while Fornell stood watching and nodding his head. All five men had moved to the center and now stood around the T.V screen displaying documents as Elliot spoke.

"Well, one guy, Private First Class Russell Thompson, served with Dean in basic training and the middle of Dean's three duty stations. I found a reference to a minor scuffle during basic training where each man was written up for conduct unbecoming. Seems the two got into more than a few arguments, one resulting in a fist fight. Their commanding officer at the time wrote it off as stress relief as the two were neck and neck in competition for top graduate. Same MOS."

"So, not exactly friends," Fornell said.

"Not even a little bit. Then, a year and a half later, they ended up again on the same duty roster at Quantico. This time in competition for the final man on a special ops team."

Fornell whistled and Tim stated, "So Houston got the nod and Thompson didn't, I take it."

"Well, yes, but that didn't happen until after the incident. Probably detrimental to your career to assault a fellow marine while your commanding officer stood less than twenty feet away. Thompson was given a non-judicial court martial for assault and conduct unbecoming. He was denied the special ops team, and also denied promotion to Lance Corporal, extra duty, and all that. Even his appeal was denied, having only the flimsy argument that he didn't know his C.O. was there and that Houston would have returned blows if he didn't have prior knowledge."

Tim raised an eyebrow at the childish behavior. "So you're thinking he has motive to be Dean's killer? Not a bad supposition. Find out where he was stationed three weeks ago. If it was local, let's bring him in," Tim said. "What about the other guy?"

"Right, thanks. So the other guy, Lance Corporal Jesse Wagner, eldest son and heir to Wagner Enterprises, served with Houston also in basic training, as well as the first and third duty stations. In fact, they had the same C.O. only weeks before. Six weeks ago, he shipped out and is now at the tail-end of a top-secret mission in Iraq, scheduled for a hop back to Quantico at the end of the week. No guarantees the two were tight but he might have some insight to whatever was going on with Houston."

"Nice job. Talk with their Commanding Officer again and ask if the two were known to spend off duty time together. Might be a dead end but it's worth checking out."

"One other note, and this is just a matter of interest, I'm sure it's nothing," Brown said before Tim and Fornell could walk away. "One other guy served in a similar duty station, one Zachary Kahill. It just so happens that Kahill converted to Muslim, is now Zakar Khalil, and took his vows on the same day as Michael Miller, now—"

"Malchus Fayek Hatem." Tim held out his hand, prompting Brown for the knuckle bump and funky handshake. "That is probably NOT nothing. While we can't prove it, I have this feeling that there was a third man at the house the other night. Khalil might be our guy."

"I'll check known associates," Stevens cut in, dismayed at merely receiving a nod before McGee and Fornell walked away.

As Tobias passed Stevens, he bopped the back of his head.

"I didn't say a word!"

"You were thinking it!" Fornell and Tim said together.


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

"Ah, ha!" Abby said, jumping up and down in front of her computer. She stopped and waited several seconds before she finally remembered, this was the moment she'd been dreading. Suppressing from her mind actually, and now it was here. Gibbs wasn't coming through that door and he wouldn't ever do that again if she and the rest of the team didn't find him and Ziva… and fast. She could only hope that the very small clue she just found was enough to set them on the right path.

The swish of the electric doors threw her off guard for a moment, sending an arrow of pain through her heart. Seeing Tim was of a balm, but not enough.

"What'cha got, Abs?" Tim asked, not understanding the look of hurt on her face. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, not demanding an answer, simply offering comfort. When the tears came, they were real, hard, and gut-wrenching. Tim didn't think the tears were a result of anything he did but he was man enough, and wise enough, to let her have the moment she needed.

Finally, the tears started to slow and then eventually stopped. Abby lifted her head and wiped her eyes. "Thank you," she said cryptically.

"You're welcome."

"Did Ducky tell you about what he found in the autopsy?"

"No," Tim replied. "I came here first, and I'm headed there next. Why? Did you find a clue?"

"I might have. Let's go to Autopsy, the four of us can talk it through and see where it might lead."

Stepping back so Abby could go first and he could follow her, Tim said, "I have a new appreciation for your wardrobe."

"Oh yeah?" Abby asked, turning her head to look at him briefly as they arrived at the elevator. She pushed the button. "Why is that?"

"Well, your clothes were always just your clothes. You look nice in them but I never understood before, still don't completely understand truthfully. But last weekend opened my eyes to your world and I caught just a glimpse of a life style that truly makes you happy." Tim followed her through the elevator doors, caught by total surprise when she reached over and flipped off the switch, stopping the elevator from continuing its decent.

"You just said the nicest thing to me. I thought maybe we should use Gibb's conference room. Shouldn't, I guess would be more appropriate but well, I just really want to kiss you right now."

Tim took her in his arms, kissing her soundly. He had the presence of mind to at least keep it somewhat chaste, they were in the office after all. But neither one of them knew exactly how much time had passed when a pounding sounded faintly from several floors above them.

"Oops. Someone wants to use the elevator apparently." Abby ran her hands down her blouse and skirt, making sure she was all put together. Tim straightened his tie and cleared his throat, then nodded at her.

Abby flipped the switch and they soon arrived at the ground floor.

.o0o.

Ducky was no where to be found when they arrived in Autopsy. Jimmy stood next to one of the doors looking mildly anxious, staring at his watch and counting, lips moving as he ticked off the seconds.

"Jimmy! What in the world are you doing? And where's Ducky?"

"Ah!" he cried, startled, jumping back from the storage bays. "Nothing. Just watching the time. Dr. Mallard is… ah… well, he's uh, resting. Please come back later." He resumed checking his watch, now adding the tapping of his foot, as if that could make time move more quickly.

Tim and Abby neither moved, nor said another word to draw his attention. He didn't check to make sure they left so they weren't going to.

"Finally!" Jimmy cried, hearing a tiny tapping on the cold storage door on the bottom row. "Three minutes, twenty-seven seconds," he said as he opened the door.

It took a few more seconds for Tim and Abby to finally see what in the world was going on, their jaws dropping when Jimmy pulled out the rack to reveal a man in peaceful repose. One looking exactly like Dr. Mallard.

"Quite nice, Jimmy, my boy. Just what I needed on such a hot day." Ducky exclaimed as he turned on the tray, planted his feet and stood, stretching his arms high above his head. More than a few pops and cracks could be heard, accompanied by the moans of stress releasing from his body.

Then Ducky went back to his work, not realizing he'd had an audience. "Tell me, young Jimmy. What is—"

"Uh, Dr. Mallard," Jimmy interrupted him. "You have guests."

"Hm?" Ducky replied, taking a few seconds to process the meaning of his assistant's words. He turned, looking in the same direction as the young man, to find Tim and Abby standing as still as statues, twin looks of disbelief.

Abby broke free first, exclaiming, "What ever floats your boat, Duckman!" as she walked toward his autopsy table. "Are you still working on poor George?"

Ducky shook his head. "Oh heavens, no. I would never need this long to make an autopsy report. However, this man suffered so many ailments, his body is positively fascinating. Young Jimmy and I have been using this as an opportunity to see first hand some of the damage a human body can withstand. Some I've never actually seen live in all my years. For instance—"

"Ducky!" Abby interrupted.

"Yes?" he replied, only mildly annoyed at the cessation of his thoughts.

"I found something and I brought Tim down so the four of us could talk through and see if this is enough of a clue to lead us to Gibbs and Ziva." She motioned to Tim who finally moved closer, and waived Jimmy over as well.

"Uh, do you mind if we kibitz over an empty table rather than one so… full?" Tim asked. Upon receiving three amused stares, he added, "I don't mind being confronted with death and a body open for all to see, I just prefer to limit my visual contact to the necessary column if possible."

"Certainly, Timothy." Ducky turned to the table behind him and the other three followed, Tim made sure to stand next to Ducky and have the body behind him. Jimmy and Abby grinned at him but walked to the far side.

"So McGee, Ducky found these strange, tissue covered fibers in the lungs of poor George here."

Ducky added, "The fact they are completely covered with granulation tissue means they have been inside this poor young man's lungs for quite some time. And I'm certain he suffered greatly for it."

"Okay," Tim said, following their conversation so far.

"But how did they get there?" Abby asked.

"I'm certainly hoping you are going to tell me but I'm fresh out of ideas," Tim said with a grin.

"You're right. I am." Abby paused for dramatic effect. "He inhaled them!" Her bright eyes twinkled with delight.

The three men looked at her, looked at each other, and then back at Abby again, each wondering if the others understood more than they did. For several moments she looked at them while the men stood quietly waiting for further clarification.

"Oh, you guys are no fun. You were supposed to say, oh never mind. Three years ago, George was chucked into a garbage dumpster, head first."

"And you know this because?" Tim asked.

"Because I found his medical records at Suburban Hospital. Well, I had to do some digging and call in a favor or three but he was admitted for respiratory infection and pneumonia resulting from the dumpster prank the week before."

"Yes, and with his life-long and quite severe asthma, it would have been a painful effort to draw a simple breath after having those in his lungs for a week. I can't imagine what made the young man not seek treatment right away?" Ducky expounded.

"Okay, so he was thrown into a dumpster, I'm assuming a bag broke open during the fall, causing these fibers to fly into the air around his head?"

"Exactly. And you'll never guess who put him there?"

"His brother?" Jimmy asked.

Abby reached up behind him and smacked him on the head. "No, but his brother found him. They filed a police report but at the time, George didn't know the names of the guys who put him there. The report stated two guys were playing racquetball in at the end of an alley when George walked in and told them they had to leave."

"Why would he do that?"

"I'm getting to that," Abby stated.

"While they were at the police station, George tried to give descriptions to the sketch artist but he was coughing so much, the likenesses weren't up to snuff. The police did their due diligence, put out BOLOs and all that, but nothing ever came of it. I pulled the composites and cleaned them up a little. I had a hunch and I was right."

"Lance Corporal Dean Houston, why am I not surprised?" Tim supplied.

"Exactly. Because you are smart, and cute, and… uh huh." Abby cleared her throat.

Jimmy smiled but Tim ducked his head so quickly to hide his blush, he lost his balance and had to grab onto the table.

Abby continued, "Michael Miller and Dean Houston survived basic training together long before Michael converted to Muslim and left the Marines. And I found that completely by accident. I was looking through all the units Michael had served in from boot camp until his date of discharge. I was trying to find a lead on who might be a partner. When Dean Houston showed up, I compared the composite to his photo and found enough similarities that I am fairly comfortably able to say Dean was one of the two."

"So Malchus somehow is able to find out that his former buddy, Dean, was one of the two responsible for hurting his brother, and takes out his revenge with an Uzi." Ducky shook his head. "Is no one civilized anymore?"

"Nice work, Abs," Tim said, turning to leave, deciding to keep the information he'd just learned from the FBI half of the team to himself for the time being.

"Oh, but I'm not done, yet. Well, there's not much more but a little."

"Okay, go on."

"This is the part that I wanted to talk through with you guys. I'm trying to come up with a logical reason for George to tell Dean and his buddy they had to leave. And I'm coming up blank, well, not exactly blank but the theory is pretty thin. Of all the buildings surrounding that alley, none of them are owned by the Miller slash Hatem family. In fact, they don't own any shell companies or property, including the one their house sits on. It's a rental."

"So then what are the facts that we know?" Ducky asked.

"Three years ago, two men, one now dead as of three weeks ago, throw another man, also now dead as of the day before yesterday, into a dumpster. The time of day was shortly after lunch according to the police report. The brother of one deceased served with the first deceased. He could have also served with the as yet still alive but I'm still working on that." Abby began.

"It is likely that Malchus had an accomplice on the night of the shooting. For one man to take down three members of our NCIS team is a bit of a stretch, even two is pushing it," Tim added, hinting at his prior knowledge but wanting to see what Abby came up with on her own.

"And for some unknown reason, Malchus did not take his brother to the emergency room right away, even knowing his illness was severe."

"And… I've got nothing," Jimmy added.

"Well, I have something, but I'm totally guessing on part of this. I searched the police records for any incidents reported for any of the buildings surrounding the alley. There are a few but one caught my eye. A few nights before dumpster dive, er… sorry. A report was filed saying three men, two Muslims judging by their clothing, and one American, were reported to be squatting in an empty warehouse. Police arrived but the men were gone. Here's the interesting part. The warehouse is on the end of the alley, on the west side. That means the wall facing east would be the alley wall as well."

"Okay, so let's say these three men are Malchus, George, and whoever—"

"Whomever," Ducky said.

"Whatever," Tim added, teasing right back. "And whomever else is their partner. They were chased away but came back a few days later when the security had relaxed. Around noon, the two Muslim men are trying to to say their prayers to the incessant banging of a racquetball—"

"And George goes out to tell them to leave!" Jimmy pipped up, glad to finally contribute something to the conversation.

"Yeah, that's thin, Abs. But a better lead than we had before. Send me the address of the warehouse. Thanks," Tim smiled and once again turned to leave.

"I already did, and I know the name of the company that owns the building," Abby called out to him. "When I find out who owns the company, you'll be the first to know."

"The second, but good enough, Abby," Tim said as the doors closed.


End file.
